


Astraphobia

by torikabori



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Gen, M/M, Manga Spoilers, a few of the other 104th show up but it's mainly them, it's mainly friendship but Feelings are heavily implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-09 23:00:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1151828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torikabori/pseuds/torikabori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Astraphobia, or the fear of thunder and lightning, is especially common in children; however, it can affect people of any age.]</p>
<p>Over breakfast on a rainy Monday, someone finally asks.</p>
<p>"So, how did you guys meet?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Astraphobia

Over breakfast on a rainy Monday, someone finally asks.

"So, how did you guys meet?"

It's Connie, and he asks it through a mouthful of bread. Reiner's been wondering when someone would get curious, and he grins, swallowing a gulp of the watery tea they give trainees before answering.

"Well, it's a long story," he chuckles, "or at least it must be. Bertl and I've been best friends forever. We used to play together when we were little, I can't even remember when we met."

Bertholdt swallows a little too hard and coughs into his fist. Reiner thumps him on the back.

"Sounds like Armin and me." Eren and Armin share a smile. "We grew up in a small neighborhood, all the kids knew each other. Everyone but Armin was a prick."

"Even Mikasa?" Connie smirks, and Eren kicks him under the table in response.

Mikasa herself, seated in her usual spot at Eren's side, gingerly sets down her fork. "I moved in when we were nine. Eren and Armin were already friends." She takes a small sip of tea, and continues, completely straight-faced, "Eren and I are still pricks, if you haven't noticed."

Reiner and Connie both laugh at Eren's indignation; Bertholdt gives a more subdued smile.

"Do you remember, Bertl?" Armin asks. Reiner can't help but grin at how fast everyone picked up that nickname.

"Remember what?"

"How you and Reiner met. How old were you?"

Bertholdt frowns and shrugs, apparently speaking to his plate. "We were little. Very little." He pauses, tugging on a sleeve, then turns in his seat to look Reiner in the eye. "You gave me one of your toys," he says flatly.

If there's some hidden meaning behind that, Reiner doesn't know it. "We must have been tiny as hell, then," he says into his cup, averting his eyes from Bertholdt's. That scrunch of his brows is making Reiner uneasy. "I was never big on toys."

"It was a stuffed bear, and you gave it to me because I was afraid of thunderstorms." Bertholdt is really frowning now, as if he honestly expects Reiner to remember something that long ago. "Its eyes were mismatched."

"I... really don't remember, Bertl." Reiner gives him an apologetic smile. "Sorry."

Bertholdt looks at him a moment longer, then goes back to his breakfast. That was unusually chatty for him, Connie remarks, and Reiner feels obligated to point out that Bertholdt is far more talkative in smaller groups and on more sleep. Eren backs him up, although he starts questioning the usefulness of a stuffed toy in the face of thunder and lightning, and then the conversation turns to favorite childhood trinkets and silly old fears.

Bertholdt does not say a word for the rest of the meal.

-

During the morning's jogging warmup, the rain gets heavier. Someone down the line must have made the mistake of asking if they still have to use their 3D gear today, because Shadis screams to all of them to run faster, because titans don't stop to wipe their noses in a light shower.

No sooner does he say that than thunder cracks overhead. "Keep moving!" he screams again, "If you can't dodge a little lightning, you can't dodge an aberrant!"

"Like that's even remotely the same thing," someone mutters to Reiner's left. Jean is glaring at the instructor's back, murder in his eyes. "He's a fucking sadist, that's all this is."

"Don't let Shadis hear you say that," Reiner chuckles. "Think of it this way: the faster you run now, the sooner you can go to class in the nice, dry buildings. Right, Bertl?"

At his right, Bertholdt nods, though it looks like his mood is as black as Jean's. Bertholdt has no trouble keeping up, but he's so tall that his poncho hardly covers anything, and his rain boots barely reach his knees. He and Reiner have complained about this before: by the end of this jog, Bertholdt's feet will be thoroughly soaked.

"You mean the sooner we'll have to stop and wait for the wimps." Jean jerks a thumb over his shoulder at the stragglers; there are always a few, especially in harsher conditions. "Besides, it's not like we'll actually have to fight titans in this. The sun's not out."

It's a mark of how grumpy Bertholdt must be when he mutters under his breath, "Don't be a moron."

Reiner raises both eyebrows at that, but Jean apparently didn't hear over the rain, because he's still grumbling to himself. Reiner waits until he drifts off to complain to someone else, then nudges Bertholdt.

"What's gotten into you?"

Bertholdt huffs. "We went over this weeks ago. Rain comes and goes within an hour, and it's not raining everywhere at the same time. It won't stop anyone unless it blocks out the sun all day, and you can't prepare for or predict that." He lowers his voice. "Jean just likes complaining."

"Are you okay?"

Bertholdt meets his eyes for a moment, then glances around. "Later," he says shortly, and speeds up to reach the front of the line.

Reiner slows down to check the stragglers, but he keeps staring at his friend's back. Was it something he said?

-

3D training in heavy rain is so mentally and physically draining that distractions are impossible, so Reiner spends that time thinking about exactly nothing but the ice-cold, slippery metal strapped to his body, and the titan-shaped wooden targets that he can hardly see through the downpour. He hardly notices time passing, and has to have someone else tell him that Shadis is calling them in, because he can't hear anything over the rolling thunder.

Over lunch, there is no time to mope. The trainees eat in silence as they are berated for their abysmal performance this morning, and then it's off to class, with the promise that anyone who takes too long to change and arrives late will have to run laps around the field, rain or no rain.

It isn't until Reiner has peeled off his wet uniform and gathered his things for class that he remembers Bertholdt's odd behavior, and it isn't until they're filing into the classroom that he even sees his friend again.

Instead of heading for their usual spot in the middle, Bertholdt makes a beeline for the front row, where he sits between Eren and Armin. There are no empty seats nearby.

Armin glances between them, confused. Eren catches Reiner's eye, points to him and Bertholdt, and very obviously mouths, "fighting?" Bertholdt twists in his seat to speak with a very confused Marco, turning his back to the door.

Reiner stares until he realizes people are almost done sitting down. He shrugs at Eren, then awkwardly makes his way to his usual seat.

At the back of the room, Annie raises an eyebrow. Reiner shrugs at her too. Down at the front, Bertholdt has turned back around and is busying himself with a paper and pen. Reiner frowns at the back of his head, but no sooner has he slid into the empty seat between Connie and Sasha than the instructor marches in, and everyone snaps to attention.

There's a pop quiz, then the rest of the class is spent on mostly on review. Even Eren stops taking notes a few times to yawn, and Sasha's sparse copying of the blackboard quickly gives way to doodles. This, unfortunately, gives Reiner plenty of time to overthink things.

Was Bertholdt upset over the weekend? No; Saturday and Sunday night the trainees all enjoyed a late dinner together, and Reiner is fairly certain there was nothing out of the ordinary. He thinks back to what he said that night: he can't remember all the details, but there wasn't anything terrible or annoying, at least nothing that Bertholdt reacted to in the moment. Maybe he was a little quiet, but he's always quiet in larger groups. So it must have been something today, but surely, surely it wasn't that thing at breakfast, right? The Bertholdt that he knows is not the type to throw day-long tantrums over something so stupid, right?

A finger pokes Reiner's forearm, startling him out of his thoughts. He glances over at Connie, who taps the corner of his paper.

_you 2 ok?_

Despite himself, Reiner smiles. He turns his paper and writes on the edge, _You mean "you two" as in me and Bertl?_

Connie bites his lip to prevent a spoken retort, but doesn't hide a roll of his eyes. _yea, you & him_

In the front row, Bertholdt is hunched over his paper. Reiner waits until the instructor turns to the board, then gives Connie a very confused frown, throwing his hands up.

Connie looks down at the front, then writes again.

_did you do smthg_

Reiner supposes it's pointless to be offended that Connie thinks him the more likely culprit. Quite truthfully he responds, _Hell if I know_

"Braun!" the instructor snaps. "What is military policy on the number of spare gas containers alotted to one squad?"

Reiner almost smiles, straightening in his seat. They went over this twice on Friday. "The exact number is up to the commanding officer, not the squad captain, and it depends on the operation. They're supposed to keep the number as low as possible, since old or mishandled containers can leak and the pressurized gas can explode. In direct combat with titans, it's so risky that usually only one or two squads will be in charge of resupplying the entire company. Sir."

"Good," the instructor sniffs. "Maybe you can tutor your classmates on how to absorb basic information, since no one else seems to remember anything before their last meal. Kirschtein! Describe the proper precautions when refueling!"

A few other trainees are glaring at Reiner, which he supposes is a step up from concerned or curious frowning. Deciding to put the Bertholdt issue out of his mind for now, he scribbles on a new scrap of paper, sliding it over to Connie. _do you need tutoring, classmate?_

The paper comes back with Connie's scrawl directly underneath his: _eat a dick riner_

_I can give lessons in that too_

_eat 20 dicks_

_is that a challenge_

Connie gives a loud cough that barely disguises his snort, which prompts the instructor to call on him next. He sputters an answer, gets reprimanded, then lightly kicks Reiner's ankle when the instructor moves on to bully someone else.

When the bell rings for hand-to-hand practice, Reiner leaves with Connie. Bertholdt is already out of sight.

-

"Are you and Bertholdt doing okay?"

There it is again: Reiner made the apparent mistake of agreeing to spar today with Marco, who is giving him that concerned-comrade look once more.

"I don't know what you're talking about." At least Marco is a lot gentler than Eren; when Reiner halfheartedly stabs at his chest, the grab-and-twist move to take the wooden knife doesn't hurt at all. Normally Reiner might be insulted at the feather-light touches, but today he is content to avoid working too hard. The rain has let up to a soft drizzle, but no one wants to be dumped in the mud.

"Oh! Okay, sorry I asked." They run through the motion again, Marco's face a mask of politeness.

Reiner rolls his eyes. "I didn't mean I'm afraid to talk about it," he sighs. "I mean I literally don't know what's not okay."

"Oh." Marco frowns over Reiner's shoulder, his hands keeping up the exercise. "That's odd. I thought there must be something between you guys earlier, and then when Bertl wanted to practice with one of us, but..."

"Wait, 'one of us'?" Reiner stops the drill, twisting around to look. Sure enough, Bertholdt is off exchanging practice blows with Jean, who's hardly even trying. "I thought they didn't get along," he blurts out, then spares a glance at Marco. "Sorry, I know he's your friend, but--"

"But he's a jackass, I know." Marco grins. "It's hard to be friends with him if you don't accept that."

"Yeah." Reiner resumes the drill with a little more vigor. "You can actually twist my arm, by the way. I promise I won't break."

As if on cue, there's a yelp from the other side of the yard-- Jean is flat on his back, where Bertholdt appears to have dumped him. Jean sits up, covered in mud and looking livid.

"Kirschtein!" The instructor is on them like a cat on a mouse. "Do you want to serve the king as a soldier or a pork roast? Stop squealing like a pig, get out of the mud and defend yourself!" Then he rounds on Bertholdt. "And Hoover! Don't just stand there like an idiot once he's down, follow your orders and take his knife! What are you going to do against a titan-- get behind it and give it a light spanking? Finish what you started!"

As Shadis moves on to yell at another pair for giggling, Reiner catches Bertholdt's eye, wincing in sympathy. It's rare that either of them gets such a scolding. Bertholdt's mouth twitches, his eyebrow rising just a hair as he glances at Shadis's back, then at Jean on the ground: it's the merest shadow of an exasperated look. Reiner loves when that side of Bertholdt comes out, just for him, and he smirks in response. Bertholdt almost smiles back, but then seems to remember that he's still upset and looks away.

Reiner sighs and turns back to Marco, giving him the knife. "I can try talking to him, if you want," Marco offers.

"Thanks, but don't worry about it. I'll get to him soon." Marco does something more akin to a gentle poke than a jab. Reiner yanks his wrist closer before doing the proper twist, smirking. Marco laughs and takes the hint, but he still doesn't press hard enough to work up a sweat. After a few passes, they find a comfortable rhythm.

"Look, they're not doing anything."

Marco jumps, probably expecting the instructor or a tattletale, but Reiner is accustomed to that voice. He looks down to meet cold blue eyes.

"Uh-oh," he chuckles, and Annie purses her lips.

"Mikasa wanted me to show her some moves for taking down a larger opponent," she explains. Beside her, Mikasa gives a blank nod. "Clearly you don't need to practice, so I'm demonstrating on you."

Shit. "Look, Annie, I'm sorry about bothering you to practice before, I didn't--"

"First," she interrupts, placing a knife in his left hand and her shoulder in his right, "if he tries to grab you. Watch carefully." She nudges Reiner's feet into a proper stance with her toe.

Mikasa tugs a very pale Marco into the same position. "It was nice knowing you," Reiner tells him solemnly, before allowing his poor body to be subjected to Annie's teaching.

-

After hand-to-hand practice the trainees are usually due for more outdoor activity, but they can hear thunder again and Shadis seems to decide they've suffered enough, so instead he lets them study in the classroom building and catch up on schoolwork until dinner. Bertholdt spends most of that time using Eren and Armin as a protective bubble, determinedly not looking up even though he must feel eyes on him every few minutes.

Reiner is alone, for once. Connie is sitting with Jean and Marco. Jean is glaring daggers at Bertholdt, so Reiner decides to stay out of that one; he also does not dare try to force himself into Bertholdt's little circle without an invitation. Christa's table by the door is also off-limits, since it contains Annie and Ymir. Both girls can be rather standoffish, but after today Reiner is reasonably sure Annie has a special dislike for him.

That's it for the people he would normally pick, and most other tables are full. Not for the first time, Reiner wonders if maybe he should make some more friends.

Then again, while he gets along with most people and has an easy time socializing, Reiner has never really had more than a few close friends at a time. In fact, before now it was only Bertl-- he hardly remembers the other children from their hometown, and he made no effort to make friends amongst the other refugees. Here, it was Bertholdt who actually prodded him to speak with their fellows.

Maybe that's it, he thinks. Maybe Bertholdt isn't angry at all; he just wants to stop being Reiner's shadow, and it's important enough to him that he's actually taking the initiative for once. Maybe Reiner should just leave him alone.

The thought sinks like a stone in his gut. Maybe it's better that he brace himself for the bad news now, so when Bertholdt works up the nerve to tell him, he won't overreact.

Reiner sets down his pen and rests his face in his hands, rubbing his eyes. He couldn't focus even if he wanted to, and it isn't like him. Why can't Bertholdt just use his words like an adult?

-

By the time dinner rolls around, Reiner decides he's had enough. He marches off toward the mess hall, but when he gets there, Bertholdt is nowhere to be found.

"He said something about bed and ran off," Armin says before Reiner even gets the question out. "You can check the barracks, but I don't know if he's going to sleep early. He said not to wait up for him."

"He didn't look tired, just stressed," Eren offers. "Maybe he wants company."

If Eren wants to think his hinting drove Reiner to march right back out of the mess hall and toward the barracks, Reiner really doesn't care. Using his jacket as a feeble shield from the rain, he splashes through the mud to their cabin and throws the door open with perhaps a little more force than necessary.

The single room seems to be empty, dark enough to sleep in but for a single lamp, flickering on a shelf near his and Bertholdt's bunk. "Bertl?" he calls, doing his best to keep the annoyance out of his voice. Maybe the guy actually is sick.

A hand waves over the edge of the bunk, but Bertholdt does not say anything. With a small huff Reiner climbs the ladder, just enough to peek over the edge of his mattress. "Is there some reason you're not at dinner?"

Bertholdt is lying on his back, hands folded over his abdomen, staring up at the ceiling. His head is right between the pillows; one shoulder, elbow and foot have crossed the invisible line into Reiner's side of the bunk. Evidently he was not expecting to share the space.

After a long pause, he responds. "I'm not hungry."

Reiner tilts his head. "You sick? You don't look sick."

The corners of Bertholdt's mouth tighten and his eyes slide closed. "I don't think I am."

"You're gonna get sick if you start skipping meals."

Bertholdt lets out a long, heavy sigh. "Then I'll try not to make it a habit."

When Bertholdt makes no attempt to move or say anything further, Reiner bites his tongue. Sometimes his friend needs time. So Reiner kicks his shoes off, climbs all the way up and settles down next to him, copying Bertholdt's position so that his hands rest on his stomach. Bertholdt draws his elbows in to make room, but does not so much as twitch away when Reiner's bicep presses flush against his. Reiner hopes this is a good sign.

The two lie in silence together, feeling the slow rise and fall of their own stomachs with their breath, listening to the pitter-patter of the rain outside. Reiner keeps glancing to the side, searching Bertholdt's face, but the taller boy simply watches the light flicker on the ceiling.

Reiner's stomach growls. He opens his mouth to suggest they go to dinner before the kitchen closes, but before he can get the words out, Bertholdt finally speaks.

"Reiner, are you happy?"

Completely blindsided by the question, Reiner turns his head to stare. Bertholdt continues to contemplate the heavens.

"We're at war, Bertl," Reiner reminds him slowly. "We're training to go fight."

Now Bertholdt turns his head just a bit, meeting Reiner's gaze. The lamp creates pin-prick reflections in otherwise dull green eyes. "Are you happy?" he repeats. "Was today a good day?"

"I'm a lot happier when you make sense," Reiner tells him, only half-joking. "Other than that, sure. I guess today was fine." Bertholdt keeps watching him, and as Reiner says it, he realizes that it's true: he likes being a trainee. He's never had so many friends or such a full day. And despite the danger and exhaustion, some of the physical exercises can actually be fun. Even in pouring rain, it's exhilerating to fly through the air on his 3D gear, and he's the sort of person who is happiest with a long-term, concrete goal. For now, graduation seems like a worthy one.

"Yeah," he says with a bit more conviction. "I'm happy, Bertl."

"Okay." Bertholdt lets out a small breath, then says again, more quietly, "Okay."

With a grunt Reiner gets up on an elbow to get a better look at his friend. Bertholdt meets his eye warily-- sadly? Reiner can't tell anymore. Maybe it's a little of both.

"What's eating you, Bert?" he asks softly. He's still close enough to feel Bertholdt's tiny shrug against his arm. "What about you, are you happy?" Another shrug. "Will you be happy when we graduate? When we go home again?" At this Bertholdt's eyes widen and his brows lose their near-permanent crease, so Reiner continues, "Yeah, remember what we're fighting for? Just one more year and we're there. With this band of nutjobs, we'll take back Maria in no time!"

Reiner thought he was getting somewhere, but now Bertholdt groans and claps both hands over his face, startling him with the movement. Or maybe it was the sudden, utterly dismayed look at the mention of going home.

"I don't know what you want from me, Bertl." Reiner clenches and unclenches a fist, working to keep his voice down. "Whatever I did to piss you off, you're going to have to tell me, because apparently I'm not smart enough to figure it out myself."

Bertholdt peeks out from between his long fingers, brow furrowed again. "I'm not mad at you."

"Right, you're just annoyed or disappointed or whatever because I can't remember a stupid toy I gave you when we were toddlers." The last word sounds like a curse. He sits up, crossing his arms and legs, too agitated to lie still anymore. "Please tell me that's not what this is about, Bertholdt, because that is fucking ridiculous."

Bertholdt sighs, low and long, threading his fingers through his hair. "We weren't toddlers," he mumbles at his palms. He then takes a breath and gets up on his elbows to stare at Reiner. "You gave me a toy to hold because I couldn't listen to the storm outside without crying, and our commander was getting annoyed." He pauses for a reaction, but Reiner must still look nonplussed, and maybe a little concerned because how could they be young enough for stuffed toys and yet have a commander? Bertholdt sits up then, casting a wary eye around the room. When he's sure they're alone, he leans in and lowers his voice anyway. His eyes narrow sharply on Reiner's face. "The lightning made me think I was shifting."

With that one word Reiner feels like the wind has been knocked out of his chest. He covers his mouth and curls in on himself, dizzy, his head flooding with images: Bertl as a child, hugging a raggedy old stuffed bear while thunder crashes outside; a flash and a horrible crunch, Bertl screaming from the center of a steam cloud, legs broken from a sixty-meter fall; Bertl slightly older but still just a kid, standing safely enough in the distance that Reiner can't see whether he's trembling, but he does see the blinding flash and crack of thunder as the colossal titan materializes, and he has to shield his face from the steam when Bertl emerges, sweaty and shaking.

A fully-grown Bertl squeezes his shoulder now, waiting for Reiner to find his way through the fog of memories. "You with me now?" he asks, unbearably gentle.

Reiner wants to tell him of course he is, he'll always be there, but he's broken that promise before and today he did it for nearly twelve hours. No wonder Bertholdt was so unreadable; for a full day, Reiner forgot who he was.

"Shit," he moans, ashamed at the way his voice cracks. "Shit, Bertl, I'm so sorry."

Bertholdt squeezes his shoulder again. "It's okay."

"It is not, don't lie to me." He rubs his eyes, not trusting himself to look up. "Fuck. No wonder you didn't want me around."

Bertholdt says nothing at first. Then he tugs Reiner into an almost-hug, moving his hand from his shoulder to the back of his neck, close enough so that Reiner can feel his friend's cheek brushing against his hair.

"Of course I wanted that," Bertholdt says, his voice tiny. The hand on Reiner's neck is warm, almost feverishly so. "I just... don't want to lose you. Not to... this."

Reiner tries to swallow past a lump in his throat. There's still a tension in Bertholdt's fingers, as if he's not quite done. Reiner tries urging him gently, "but?"

Bertholdt draws in a shaky breath, his thumb carressing Reiner's hairline. His next words are so soft that they're almost inaudible: "But I also want you to be happy."

There's nothing Reiner can really say to that, and he doesn't at all trust his voice anyway, so instead he just leans sideways and rests his forehead on his best friend's shoulder. He lifts a hand to make sure Bertholdt's neck is covered too.

Bertholdt's body temperature is always feverishly high, like his own personal fireplace. With his vulnerable spot covered, Reiner could sit like this until his neck cramped up, but a sound in the room makes them both flinch. The door creaks open; by the time a few footsteps have fallen, the two have sprung apart, Bertholdt hugging his knees and Reiner pressing a thumb and forefinger into the corners of his eyes until it hurts.

The footsteps draw closer. "Guys?" Eren's voice calls from the floor. "Are you up there?"

Reiner and Bertholdt exchange a look. Bertholdt shrugs. "Yeah," Reiner responds, his voice embarrassingly rough. He clears his throat as if he's sick.

Eren climbs up to the bed one-handed, dripping and clutching at a bundle: he's turned his jacket into a makeshift bag. "Here, take this before I drop it." When neither of them is fast enough, he dumps it on the bed anyway. A mouth-watering smell of stuffed rolls seeps out.

Reiner stares at him, ignoring his stomach for the moment. "Eren, what is this?"

Eren nudges the bundle of food toward them. "I have to hurry back before they run out of that soup I like, but I grabbed these for you. Just give me the jacket back tomorrow morning or something, it can air out overnight." He looks between them expectantly.

"I'm not hungry," Bertholdt mutters for the second time that night.

"Yeah, I figured." Eren sighs and folds his arms over the edge of the bed. "But try to force something down, okay? Eat, get stronger, and fight back, so you won't have to feel like this anymore." He shrugs. "That's what Mikasa's always telling me, anyway. Sometimes it helps."

Bertholdt's forehead is resting on his knees, hiding his face, so Reiner responds for both of them. "Look, Eren, thanks for this but it's kind of a bad time--"

"I know." He gives Reiner a tiny, sad smile. "I'm from Shiganshina, remember? I get bad days too." Eren takes a step down on the ladder, then hesitates and steps back up again. "Uh, Armin and me can try keeping the guys away for a while if you need space." He smiles again, and leans forward to awkwardly pat Reiner's knee, the only place he can reach without getting his wet self on the bed.

"Let me know if you need anything, okay? Or... want to talk. Armin too, he can help." He glances between them one last time. "Don't worry, we're gonna win this. Just hang in there." He turns and hops down from the ladder. "You guys take care of each other," he calls from the doorway.

Reiner hears the door close, but his eyes are on his own hands resting in his lap. There's a spot of damp cloth like a damning stain where Eren touched him. "I think I'm gonna be sick," he mutters.

There's a rustle of movement beside him, and the nauseating smell gets stronger. A roll appears in Reiner's palm. It feels heavy.

Bertholdt is tearing his own roll into thumbnail-sized pieces, eating them one at a time. His eyes are downcast, unfocused on some point on the mattress, but he is aware enough to nudge Reiner with a foot when he does not start eating.

Reiner holds his breath and tries to take a bite. It tastes like cotton in his mouth.

"Just think of it like following an order," Bertholdt sighs. "Soldiers do what they're told." He lets out something that was probably supposed to be a chuckle. "Warriors too, I guess."

"I guess you're right." He tries several times to repress his gag reflex, the words _I'm from Shiganshina_ and _just do what you're told_ replaying on loop between his ears, occasionally punctuated with _take care of each other_  in a few different voices and a far-off memory of Bertholdt staring at him, tears in his eyes, asking _why don't you remember, why don't you come back--_

The present-day Bertholdt tugs on his sleeve. "Hey," he says softly, and waits for Reiner to look up. Dark green eyes are sad-- they're always sad-- but warm. "Just one more year, right? Then we can go home. Just a little bit longer."

"Yeah. I guess so." He covers his mouth and swallows hard. "We'll go home and everything will be better." It's a story they've repeated often, partially because Reiner needs reminding. Maybe one day he'll start believing it again.

"No more streets that smell like stables." Bertholdt's fingers are still on Reiner's sleeve, thumb thoughtfully stroking his wrist. "No more saddle sores."

That actually gets a smile, albeit a tiny one. He remembers their first days of horseback training all too well. "No more buckles and straps chafing our thighs. No more cable-snapping or uniform wedgies."

"No more waking up at sunrise," Bertholdt continues fervently, "no more fighting for showers and mess hall seats."

"No more playing the good soldier," Reiner mutters. "No more lying."

"No more lying," Bertholdt agrees. He scoots closer, hand moving to pat Reiner's back. "Never, ever again."

Slightly guilty over bringing the mood back down, Reiner raises an eyebrow. "Not ever, huh? Does that mean you're finally gonna ask Annie out?"

Bertholdt blinks; his hand pauses in midair. Then he purses his lips and glances down at his partially-eaten bread. Had Reiner not been looking closely, he might have missed the slight twitch in his eye. He knows that his friend gets annoyed when he mentions that, but Bertl with a crush is just too cute a subject to stay quiet about.

"Sure," Bertholdt sighs, resigned. "When it's safe again, I'll tell... Annie... how I feel."

"Hey, maybe you'll get together and have the romance of the century. And maybe I'll even find myself a nice boy and settle down." Someone who doesn't mind kissing an insane mass murderer, he thinks but doesn't say.

"Maybe." Bertholdt's hand is on his neck again, warm and heavy like a thick blanket. "Maybe that nice boy will fall in love with you first."

Reiner snorts. "Poor bastard."

Bertholdt makes a little hm noise but says nothing, instead simply toying with the short fuzz of hair at the nape of Reiner's neck. It's oddly soothing.

Years ago, back at home, Bertholdt used to cling to an old stuffed bear with mismatched eyes. He'd been told it would protect him from thunder and lightning, but he had to leave it behind when their mission began. Inside the walls, Bertholdt would hold Reiner's hand instead, but it didn't always mean he was the one in need of protection.

It dawns on Reiner now that he can remember the day he met Bertholdt, and how they became friends, but he cannot imagine a time before that.

Their meager dinner has gotten cold, but Reiner finds his appetite returning. He lets himself fall into silence, retreating into the comfort of Bertholdt's touch.

Outside, the thunderstorm rages on.

**Author's Note:**

> Wow I'm sorry about this mess, I just wanted to be done with it and finally post something. :') And I'm sorry if I screwed up the formatting, AO3 remains to be a mystery to this mere mortal.
> 
> And while I'm not saying Reiner is an oblivious dumb turd... one must admit that Reiner is kind of an oblivious dumb turd...


End file.
